Best Friends
by nico420
Summary: How Phoebe came to be friends with Helga (from Phoebe's pov).


**I do not own Hey Arnold! or any of the following characters.**

* * *

The students of PS118 can't understand my relationship with Helga. How could sweet, little Phoebe be best friends with one of the biggest bullies in our grade? Not just how, but _why_?

"Why?" They used to ask me.

"She's not that bad," I'd tell them.

The truth is, they just don't know her like I do; but I can't explain myself without explaining Helga—and it isn't my place to do so.

* * *

At the start of pre-school, I remember that Helga was always alone. She sat alone on the bus, ate alone at lunch, and played alone during recess. She never talked to the rest of the kids. I figured she was shy. She seemed pretty sensitive, too. One time, Harold was making fun of her or something and she just snapped out of no where.

She hasn't been the same ever since.

* * *

I was afraid of Helga after that. She would boss me and the other kids around and if we didn't do what she said, she would threaten to beat us up; so I was extra nice to her. I gave her my dessert at lunch without having to be asked for it. I let her cut in line at the drinking fountain. I let her copy my homework. I was only trying to avoid being bullied—and it worked—but it seems I couldn't avoid being bossed around; because somewhere along the line, I became her sidekick.

I think she knew that I was only trying to save my own skin, but out of loneliness, she used my fear to keep me close by. If she wanted to play with me at recess, she'd demand me to play with her. If she wanted to work with me on a project during class, she'd demand me to work with her.

* * *

Not long after that, is when I discovered her deepest, darkest secret...

During recess one day, I saw her sitting behind a trash can. She was all hunched over, so I thought she was sick. I walked over to her to see if she needed help, but then I realized she was talking to herself. I took a few steps closer; as quietly as possible, so she wouldn't hear me.

"_Ar_nold..." She'd scoffed. "How I _hate_ you..." She pulled out a paper heart with a picture of Arnold glued in the center. "_And yet..._" Her voice had suddenly taken on a very different tone as she brought the heart to her chest. "_How I _love_ you... Always doing the right thing.__ Always thinking of others... Oh, how I long to tell you what I have for so long kept—_"

All of a sudden, this kickball comes flying out of nowhere and knocks the garbage can over; just missing Helga. When she turned around and saw me, she gasped. I thought I was going to get punched.

Harold ran over and grabbed the ball without apologizing or anything before returning to his game.

"You _better_ not have heard anything," Helga said, when Harold was far enough away.

"Um—No, I —"

"You better not_ tell _anyone!" She said, waving a fist at me.

"Of course not Helga! I would never tell anyone."

* * *

And I never did.

I guess I earned Helga's trust that way, because she started opening up to me, after that. Only a little, at first; but gradually, more and more. She'd complain about her parents sometimes, but mostly just her sister. She seemed to be rather jealous of her. She never talked much about Arnold, though. It was too sensitive a topic. Even more sensitive than that of her family.

The more she talked, the more I felt like I understood her; and why she was the way that she was.

* * *

In first grade, Harold was picking on me about something—I can't remember what it was—and Helga defended me. She got right in his face and told him that if she ever caught him picking on me again, he'd have to answer to Ol' Betsy and The Five Avengers (that's what she used to call her fists). When one of the older kids shoved me on the playground, Helga beat them up. I always thought she went too far with that one; but ever since, I'd thought of her as my personal body guard.

And a true friend...

I was no longer sucking up to Helga out of fear that she'd beat me up, otherwise. I genuinely liked spending time with her. She was different when we were alone; when we hung out by the river, skipping rocks, or spent the night at each other's houses. She wasn't loud, or mean, or obnoxious. She was only cynical and sarcastic; but really fun to talk to.

Although, she could still be a little bossy sometimes. It's just her nature; and I never had a problem with doing anything she told me to do, so I was happy to oblige.

* * *

A few years passed, and the more time I spent with her—the more I learned about her—the more I realized how brilliant Helga is. I've always been really book smart—I get the best grades in PS118, I always win the spelling bee and the student of the month award; I even had the chance to skip a couple grades—but Helga is smart in her own way. A way that I am not.

She's quite precocious, really. I know she acts immature, but when I talk with her, I feel like I'm talking with an adult. She's clever, witty, and insightful. I don't think I could have the kind of conversations that I have with Helga with the rest of our peers.

She's an excellent writer, too; well-articulated with an extensive vocabulary and the ability to whip up a poem in the matters of minutes—seconds even. She's creative, artistic, thoughtful, and opinionated. She's practical, realistic, and gives really good advice. She always says things that I can't deny. Things that should have been obvious to me. Things that make me think.

* * *

I've also realized that she needs me. She's needed me from the start. I am her only friend. The only one who listens to her and pays her any attention. The only reason she's not totally alone.

* * *

So, here we are today. The shy, sweet girl and the obnoxious bully—a duo that surely begs questions.

Well, the answer is simple: I know her better than anyone. And that's what I'll tell anyone who asks.


End file.
